My soul is so viscous, I fear it may never pour out

Such a quiet sound, it was easily disregarded. Disembodied whispers... murmurs... incoherent and having no discernable source. I didn't really know it was even going on for a very long time. Eventually it became part of the background noise of my childhood, and I would only take notice of it when playing with my friends or at school — moments when I realized that I could hear the sound and The Others could not. It was frightening in its isolation, but children are easily distracted, and I would never dwell upon it for long.

As I grew older, I realized that things were changing within me — moving in the dark corners of the back of my mind. The sound began to manifest itself in the visible spectrum. In dreams at first... but before long, in waking moments. Ghosts. Dark, blurry spectres. Terrifying glimpses of them, shooting up from nowhere, now evoking a terror in me unlike any I had known before. And it was clear to me now that they were the source of the sound. I can't describe the feeling of dread they instilled in me — or the grip of horror I was in when they were present, for they wanted my soul. Whenever they came for me, I ran.

And as I ran, they manifested themselves from the nothing, more frequently and in greater numbers. And I ran and I ran so that I would not see them behind me. But they were quicker and wilier than me, and as my trampling feet wore raw and the sweat poured down me as if condensing from a thick fog, they began to overtake me. Spinning blurs at first, in my peripheral vision... and then, suddenly, they were all in front of me. Now I was running towards them — and my heart stopped with fear. I knew I could not run any faster to escape them. I am trapped... I am haunted.

Then, as if emancipated from a dream, it came upon me one day like a bolt out of the blue: I am drowning. So deep was I in the black water that almost no light came through from above. My lungs burned in their collapse. As awareness of this orientation washed over me, I began to kick and paddle — blinking and wide-eyed as though startled from a deep sleep. The undertow had grabbed me somehow, while I was pretending. I thought I was laughing and waving and splashing about with all The Others on a sunny holiday, but my own riptide had taken me down and out into the gulf — far from shore and without a life preserver. I was lost, having condemned myself to this watery grave. Kick and push as I might, this was It. I have fucked myself.

And as I gave in to this final resolution, I relaxed. So be it. It is finished. No more lies, no more pretension. This is the end. I do not have the will to fight anymore: It is of no use. My soul is too weak. I am the Damned. So let it be, and in my final moments I will accept this and be — finally — at peace.

The ghosts surrounded me.
I had never seen so many all at once: I was enveloped.
But this time, no fear...

They clung to me, piling on — thousands of them. Lifting me up... Up, up — towards the light. I sensed my pulse for the first time in ages, quickening — was my blood thinning? My opaque eyes grew clearer, and the light above grew brighter. And the sound... dull at first... it grew sharper. Sweet Jesus, they are singing! Drawing me up, out of the black black sea... out of the asphyxiating grave of my own foolishness, sorrow and self-denial. The rush towards the light grew faster, and my senses grew keener. I was at once a rocket, propelled by forces I had never dared to stare in the face. And as they shot me out of the briny deep, high above the waves... the warm salt air filled my tortured lungs. I gasped and cried, feeling as though my head would explode. I was shaking and dripping as I was spirited towards the distant sandy shoreline — the stinging breeze flowing hard against my suddenly tingling skin.

As the sugar-white sand of the beach approached me in flight, I doubled over and disgorged a volume of sea water that projected from me like a molten flame. It looked like black blood... filled with paralyzing terror and vengeful anger... all the puerile fears of judgement from The Others were expelled out of me in an instantaneous heave. Purged of this evil at long last, I raised my head in time to be set down gently upon the shore. My knees were so weak — I sunk into the sand and was laid down, my head falling back and my crying eyes gazing up into the cloudless blue sky.

I lay there and baked for a while in the blazing sunlight, reflecting on the long chapter of my life that had just ended. I thought of The Others, who had spent these same years growing and integrating, while I was deluded into becoming some post-modern Jonah. My angels née devils were gone now for good, and I was on my own. The joy I felt over being released from my torment was now tinged with disquiet. My soul still yearned; it must be quickened.

When my strength returned enough to stand, I realized that I knew this beach. It had once been the valley of grass I had hidden myself in. Every green blade was now gone, as was the shady forest beyond. As I rose and walked away from the Gulf of Lies, my eyes met only sandy dunes. The long immersion in the salty sea had bled me nearly dry in so many ways. Crystals of salt formed on my skin as I trod across the desert in search of an oasis. I had been freed, but was still far from freedom.

I walked on, and in time the sound of the waves breaking on the shore was replaced by the whisper of the wind moving the sand across the dunes. The brutal sun bore down on me, harder and harder with every step. I began to lose my sense of awareness again, walking towards... I knew not what. Without guidance... without direction... trudging forward...